Wanton: An Exploration of Power and Control
by Mistress Pharaoh
Summary: Inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey, Wanton flips the script and explores what happens when a handsome, sexy and emotionally available young doctor messages a gorgeous but damaged dominatrix on a fetish website. Their sexually charged first session results in feelings neither of them can suppress but a chance encounter with the head of neurosurgery leaves her unable to trust herself.


Wanton: An Exploration of Power and Control

It was night. The air pulsed to an electronic beat and Mistress Pharaoh smiled. She rearranged herself on the window seat and watched the crowd of people lined up across the street. The girls in line tugged their too short skirts and pumped their legs for warmth and for the pleasure of the men behind them. Mistress Pharaoh hid her nakedness behind the shadowy curtain and stretched her legs. Perfectly washed, coiffed, scented and attired she enjoyed and admired herself, melding, in her own small way with the chaos of the club below.

The door to the flat was unlocked. Her victim had instructions to enter, lock the door behind him and proceed up the stairs leading directly into the bedroom. He would find her in black latex boots to the thigh, a black g-string, and a black bustier. Her only concession to BDSM aesthetic was the small mask covering her eyes and a black cuff on her wrist. Restraint guided every choice in her wardrobe and move in life. The only exception she allowed was at the expense of men who chanced upon her Wanton profile. And, if fate brought two strangers together for the purpose of her catharsis and their humiliation _so be it_ , she justified. Like an alligator or a cockroach, she didn't respect boundaries or safe words and her Wanton reviews confirmed it. Her whims were tantamount.

As soon as she woke in the strange flat in Belfast she had opened her laptop and confronted her profile on Wanton. Her picture showed her in a black dress and elaborate feathered mask, holding a chain leash worn by a female slave gazing up at her adoringly. Her location had loaded automatically upon arrival at the airport and there were hundreds of messages waiting for her. She browsed rapidly and stopped at one from a potential victim named Jamie. He was young and attractive, exquisite really, chiseled but warm and inviting.

Message: _You are a Goddess! Please teach me. I have never done this before._

In an instant, she sent him a contract. Wanton provided mandatory contracts outlining the boundaries of the exchange and a safe word that needed to be read and acknowledged before the site would allow any exchange of identifying information. Jamie wrote her back immediately and told her his shift ended at midnight and asked if that would be too late? She sent him the address and barely looked at his contract, all standard, no anal, no cutting, but bondage, gagging, scratching, and whipping, _yes, please._

She noticed he sent her a follow up message asking her a list of questions, how long would it last? what should he expect? should he bring anything? et cetera, which she completely ignored. Many victims use subterfuge to try and ingratiate themselves. There aren't any words to prepare for it and if there were she wouldn't use them to help him feel more at ease. It had begun.

2\. Everlasting Fire

Even over the loud clamoring of the crowd below, she heard the door shut downstairs. She didn't stand or do anything to prepare for his entrance. Contrary to many dommes, she did nothing to announce her dominance, it simply was. It didn't matter if he was bigger or stronger or male. She intended to illustrate, step by step, why none of that mattered. She left the curtains open onto the street and wouldn't shut them either. What was going to take place was as much an organic biological process as what occurred below and had as much a right to be as anything else in this convoluted universe.

She listened to each of Jamie's careful steps up the stairs, registering like a trained technician the fear in them, the guilt. She watched an arrest take place outside of the club with interest. The schizophrenic police lights lit the room beautifully and combined with a chaotic wandering beam of light from the club she felt quite at home. Jamie's step was on the landing, squeaking the old floorboards with his weight, (the flat had all the appeal of a dry cellar). He entered the room and she turned to him. He bent his head, trying to see her face against the glare behind. She knew he would be unable to make out the features of her face, though her body, lounging near naked in the window box, was well-illumined.

"I'm sorry I've kept you, there was an emergency at work."

She took her time setting her stiletto boots on the ground and stood, watching as he took her in, absorbing the effect of herself on him.

"I would have called you but I had no number," he fumbled.

"Stop talking," she smiled.

She approached and he stopped and stared at her. His beauty was angelic, equal to her own in its perfect proportion. There was both the boy and the man in him, none of the creaking, sloppy weakness of age.

"Are you for real?"

She smiled and scratched his full, five o'clock shadow with the butt of her whip. It made a deliciously audible scraping sound, like wind in dry grass. He smiled, forgetting his place, not yet understanding that they weren't equals enjoying the moment together. She stopped smiling.

"Take off your clothes."

His mouth popped open.

"Can't we talk for a bit?"

She passed the butt of the whip alongside the lapel of his tweed sport coat.

"Did you really come all this way to stop now?"

His eyes grew large. She turned abruptly and stood in front of the window. With one foot on the window's bench she stretched her arms, dangling the whip against the length of her body.

"You have no idea what you've got to lose until you've lost it," she said almost to herself.

He stared at her and then removed his jacket, setting it on a small round table in the corner and then his watch. She didn't turn but observed the police outside arresting a suspect. She smiled.

"You can keep your briefs," she remarked absently to the window. "Wouldn't want you to get cold."

She studied him as he removed his undershirt and then sat at a chair and took off his loafers and socks. He seemed to resent her for not compromising but he had no idea how much leniency she had already extended. He stood and she bit her lip. He didn't smile as he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down, revealing his lovely, muscled thighs. _Like columns_ , she moaned to herself, hiding her smile behind the butt of the whip. He was wearing black briefs and his beautifully carved abdomen revealed no hint of pudge.

"Sit," she ordered.

He returned to his chair and sat with his legs wide apart and his chest erect. She stepped between his legs. His mouth was level with her navel. His warm, dry hands rose to caress the silky coldness of her thighs. He groaned and his eyelids flickered. She took his face in her hands, stroking his hair and cheeks adoringly. He was like a toy newly rescued from its packaging, so shiny and spotless and wanted. But there was no life for this toy outside of her wishes.

"I'm going to be very gentle with you because you are so beautiful," she whispered.

His breathing was jagged. His hands continued their feather-light exploration up her back, gently circling the small part of her waist. She experienced a sharp pain in her groin and lost herself for a moment. Shutting her eyes, she let her head fall back. The pressure of his hands pulled her forward and he buried his face in her slight abdomen.

 _Everything you could ever wish to know about a person is obvious in their touch,_ she thought to herself. She had never had to caution herself not to fall in love with a slave before. She felt a brief and rare glimmer of panic when she realized that she didn't hate him the way she had hated all the others; at first sight. She opened her eyes and pulled his hair back, forcing him to look at her.

"If you please me my generosity will be boundless. But, if you express even a glimmer of disrespect, I'll destroy you."

She forced herself to step back and cracked the whip. He startled in spite of his masculine smirk. It was a necessary warning. A prescription for further abuse. It wouldn't do to start cracking the whip after he was bound, he would feel tricked, and his ego would convince him that he bore no responsibility. It was important for his humiliation that he knew before hand what lie in store while he was free and could save himself. Choosing to stay made everything that would follow _his fault_.

"Go kneel in front of the bed and put your hands behind your head."

She pointed to a spot on the floor where she had placed a pillow, hours before. He stood and slowly turned from her. She put her stiletto into his buttock and pushed him.

"Now!"

Read the complete story for free at spotlight/EiaJossi


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